“Listen to me, my own life. You must not let love for me lie so heavy upon your heart. Go out and keep your mind employed upon other thoughts--by degrees you'll forget--no, I don't think you could altogether forget me--me--the first, Una, you ever loved.” “And the last, Connor--the last I ever will love.” “No, no. In the presence of my lovin' mother I say that you must not think that way. Time will pass, my own Una, an' you will yet be happy with some other. You're very young; an', as I said, time will wear me by degrees out of your mimory.”-- Una broke hastily from his embrace, for she lay upon his breast all this time-- “Do you think so, Connor O'Donovan?” she exclaimed; but on looking into his face, and reading the history of deep--seated sorrow which appeared there so legible, she again “fled to him and wept.” “Oh, no,” she continued, “I cannot quarrel with you now; but you do the heart of your own Una injustice, if you think it could ever feel happiness with another. Already I have my mother's consent to enter a convent--and to enter a convent is my fixed determination.” “Oh, mother,” said Connor, “How will I lave this blessed girl? how will I part with her?” Honor rose up, and, by two or three simple words, disclosed more forcibly, more touchingly, than any direct exhibition of grief could have done, the inexpressible power of the misery she felt at this eternal separation from her only boy. She seized Una's two hands, and, kissing her lips, said, in tones of the most heart--rending pathos-- “Oh, Una, Una, pity me--I am his mother!” Una threw herself into her arms, and sobbed out-- “Yes, and mine.” “Thin you'll obey me as a daughter should,” said Honor. “This is too much for you, Oona; part we both must from him, an' neither of us is able to bear much, more.” She here gave Connor a private signal to be firm, pointing unobservedly to Una's pale cheek, which at that moment lay upon her bosom. “Connor,” she proceeded, “Oona has what you sent her. Nogher--an' he is breakin' his heart too--gave it to me; an' my daughter, for I will always call her so, has it this minute next her lovin' heart. Here is hers, an' let it lie next yours.” Connor seized the glossy ringlet from his mother's hand, and placed it at the moment next to the seat of his undying affection for the fair girl from whose ebon locks it had been taken. His mother then kissed Una again, and, rising, said-- “Now, my daughther, remimber I am your mother, an' obey me.” “I will,” said Una, attempting to repress her grief--“I will; but--” “Yes, darlin', you will. Now, Connor, my son, my son--Connor?” “What is it, mother, darlin'?” “We're goin', Connor,--we're lavin' you--be firm--be a man. Aren't you my son, Connor? my only son--an' the ould man--an' never, never more--kneel down--kneel down, till I bless you. Oh, many, many a blessin' has risen from your mother's lips an' your mother's heart, to Heaven for you, my son, my son!”